


middle of the bed

by honeypottrap



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dubious Consent, Guilt Blowjob, M/M, Power Imbalance, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 02:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13695015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeypottrap/pseuds/honeypottrap
Summary: “Mitch? It’s... good, but it’s not--” Auston starts, looking a bit pitying, and Mitch’s face flames. He knew he wouldn’t be any good at this, it was all a mistake, how fuckingembarrassing.(Or: as it turns out, munching box doesn't directly transfer over to sucking dick.)





	middle of the bed

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for detailed warning explanations. 
> 
> A lot of the aspects (dubcon, power imbalance) are unrealized by Auston and take place solely in Mitch's head.
> 
> **I can't stress the dubcon warning enough. If you're easily squicked by consent issues, I would not recommend reading this.**

“No eating out tonight, boys. Stay in your rooms.” Marty winks, messing with Mitch’s hair as he leaves to his own hotel room, and Mitch feels his face flush as a couple of guys chuckle knowingly.

Everyone’s in a great mood from the win, laughing and pushing him around more than usual, and the extra attention is making his skin buzz, like he needs to get out and _go_ somewhere, do something. Usually when they get this mean, they’re all out together, where Mitch can ride the high from it, maybe sneak away to let off some steam in a bathroom with some nameless girl, but that’s not an option tonight. He fumbles with the room key a bit, flustered, but gets the door open to see Auston already lounging around in boxers.

Mitch steadfastly avoids looking any lower than his chest. You don’t end up surviving on a team with Auston Matthews without a heavy dose of self control, Mitch has found. Envy is maybe the wrong sin for how he feels, but that’s not to say that there’s not a healthy dose of jealousy in the mix.

“You wanna order room service?” Mitch greets, safely distant to ensure he doesn’t say anything stupid and embarrass himself. _Get a grip._

Auston groans in response and flops down on the bed, burying his face in the covers. Mitch waits out the dramatics, a smile quirking on his face.

“God, I wish we could go out tonight. I really need to get some.” Auston announces. Mitch very nearly swallows his tongue, can’t come up with a response with the way his thoughts have been derailed, and maybe that’s his first mistake. Auston looks up in the resulting silence, turns his head to look at Mitch.

Mitch might not be the smartest person, or the most self aware, but he isn’t dumb enough to miss the very obvious way Auston’s gaze slowly turns speculative, dropping to his mouth.

Mitch fights down a wave of unease. It’s just an extension of the jokes with the older guys, the way he’s gotten a reputation with eating out his hookups. Word gets around, apparently, and the other guys seem to find it hilarious. Jokes about his mouth are free game, which is... _something,_ but it’s better than the opposite, Mitch is sure. (Thanks, Jamie Benn.)

But with regards to his acute nervousness? There’s no way that Auston knows he’s been thinking about it -- considering it, even, when he’s alone in the dark trying to sleep. It shouldn’t show in his face. He laughs nervously, aiming for nonchalant and missing by about a mile.

“Dude, _what_? I’m not gonna give you head just cause your girl’s out of town.”

Auston pouts, not even bothering to deny his intentions at this point. “Come _on_ , please? I scored _twice_. Off your assists!”

“Yeah, but--” Mitch argues, but Auston butts in, on a roll now. Their quick back-and-forth banter is something Mitch can usually keep up with, usually enjoys, but tonight it feels more like an intense scrutiny, and he’s stuck stumbling behind with no good response.

“I know you’re not opposed to giving oral--” 

“Yeah, with _girls_ \--”

“That guy whose concert you went to--”

Mitch sputters slightly. _Not fair,_ bringing that up _._ “I-- that was _Shawn Mendes_. He doesn’t count, he’s gorgeous.”

Auston raises his eyebrows, silent.

“Shut up, I just-- I don’t do that.” Alright, so maybe Mitch wasn’t exactly a 0 on the Kinsey scale and Auston knew it.

Auston switches on the puppy dog eyes, which is ridiculous, because he’s literally asking for a blowjob. “Please? It’s too late to go out tonight, and you haven’t let me have the room in forever. Don’t you think I deserve it?”

“You’re so spoiled, christ.” But Auston has a point -- Mitch definitely cockblocked him the last couple of times they roomed together, given that Mitch had solidly hogged the room during their free time. He feels kind of guilty, now, thinking about that and all the great games Auston’s been having, all the times he could’ve been getting his dick sucked that he gave up just to shoot the shit with Mitch.

His skin feels warm, itchy almost, like Mitch is getting hot for it, feeling the anticipation even though it’s not inevitable -- it’s _not._  

It’s just… Mitch hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it, not for a couple weeks now, when the guys went a little too far with their joking a couple weeks back and pushed him to his knees. He’d stumbled, landed hard in front of Auston. Auston, who’d just laughed along, too nice to give him shit for it as well, had just given Mitch a hand to stand up.

The blood had been rushing in his ears, embarrassed and flustered, but. The way he’d felt, pushed around and out of control and _powerless_ ? He’d jerked off three nights in a row remembering it, couldn’t get it out of his head. Even now, there’s a small part of him that’s chanting _what if, what if_ that’s outweighing his uncertainty.  

Mitch shifts on his feet, awkward. Maybe it _is_ a done deal.

“I don’t even know what to do--” He starts, but it’s a halfhearted protest and Auston knows it, so Mitch cuts himself off.

His heart is pounding in his chest, loud, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Auston could hear it somehow, have physical proof that he’s very nearly overwhelmed with nerves. Thinking about it is one thing, but actually doing _this_ , for a friend, for Auston? This might require some self reevaluation.

Auston takes charge, swings his feet off the bed and pats his thighs like an offer, even though it’s not, not really. Not to Mitch. He wants this too much. Mitch’s response feels natural, almost Pavlovian -- he kneels down, shuffling forward on his knees, and Auston gives a victorious grin. It fades pretty quickly, though, when he notices Mitch’s slight frown. And, yep, there’s that concern, that perfect golden-child empathy that he manages to have along with everything else. 

“I’m clean, if that’s what you’re worried about. Passed the test.” He jokes. Mitch stays silent, maybe accidentally shows some nerves on his face, or _something_ , because Auston latches on further, turning his full attention on Mitch -- and that’s not the kind of attention Mitch wants, not the babying like he’s some kind of _virgin_. “You’ll be fine, it’s not that different--”

Mitch doesn’t want to hear it, so he cuts him off, scoffs. His voice feels shaky, and he tries to cover it up by being louder. “Bullshit. Like _you’d_ know.” It sounds angular, harsh even to own his ears, and absolutely not the light friendly way they use to joke around with each other. Aside from the blowjob, this is uncharted territory, especially with how hard Mitch has been trying to get Auston to like him. He scrubs a hand over his face, but it looks like the damage has already been done.

“It’s not like I’d _hurt_ you, Mouse, _really_?” Auston sounds hurt now, too, almost offended, and that’s not at all what Mitch intended. Auston would never, and the mere accidental implication is making Mitch feel guilty as hell. Auston already gets so much shit, people painting him as being stuck-up, pushy, and it probably hurts more from someone on the team.

Mitch needs to apologize, do _something_ , anything to move past this faux pas that has Auston frowning to himself, but all Mitch manages to do is fumble for a few seconds before caving. “I-- _fine_.”

Auston palms himself, chubbing up before he slides his boxers down over his hips, and, yep, there’s a dick in Mitch’s face. This is going to go so, so poorly.

“You can just--” Mitch grabs Auston’s hand, moving it to his hair. “If I do something wrong, just-- you know?”

“Sounds great,” Auston snarks, sarcastic, but curls his fingers tightly against Mitch’s scalp. It feels good, Mitch thinks. Keeps him grounded.

He leans forward on his knees, gripping the base of Auston’s dick and stroking him to full hardness with both hands. It’s weird, doing it to someone else, but the skills seem to transfer over, Mitch thinks before opening his mouth and taking him in. _Here goes nothing._

Auston gasps above him, inhaling sharply, and Mitch takes that as a good sign. He isn’t really sure where to start, can’t get him in nearly as deep as he’d thought without triggering his gag reflex, so he’s kind of stuck moving his tongue along the underside in ways that he hopes feel good. It feels like a lot to pay attention to, keeping his teeth covered and breathing and not-gagging, so his technique is probably pretty lacking in the skills department.

All too soon, he almost chokes and has to stop so he doesn’t drool all over himself and down the length of Auston’s dick. Mitch doesn’t look up, is kind of afraid to, but it’s pretty telling that Auston hasn’t made another noise since the beginning, fingers flexing aimlessly Mitch’s hair.

The silence feels loud, louder than the wet noises making Mitch’s stomach burn.

“Mitch? It’s... good, but it’s not--” Auston starts, cutting off, looking a bit pitying, and Mitch’s face flames. He knew he wouldn’t be any good at this, it was all a mistake, how fucking _embarrassing_ \--

He goes to pull off, maybe hide under a rock ‘til the end of time, but Auston grips him tighter by the hair, pushing him back down.

“Wait, wait, you can’t just _stop_ \-- here, just--” He prods at Mitch’s lower lip, gets him to open wider and slides in further without waiting for Mitch to respond. Mitch inhales sharply through his nose, stunned by the action, the _audacity_ , but more by the way it happened so easily. He feels hot and cold at the same time, uncomfortably sweaty under his clothes, but he’s fully hard now. Auston groans, low in his throat, and Mitch tries not to squirm, his jeans feeling more and more restricting.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Auston breathes. “Is this okay? I think I can, if I just-- can I move?”

Mitch doesn’t want _that_ , not really. He feels mortified by how _not easy_ it is, by how Auston was able to push him back down, control his movements. How he just let it happen. It’s almost too much, has his heart thumping far too fast in his chest. He’s in too deep, thinks he almost wants to back out, with how confusing his emotions are.

But.

He agreed to this, he _started_ it, and it would be a dick move to just leave Auston hard and leaking-- which he _is_ , in Mitch’s _mouth_ , and it’s salty and so incredibly foreign that Mitch feels lost.

And, besides. He’s _hard,_ wants to feel that heavy power again, wants to hear the way it makes Auston groan above him, despite how Mitch’s stomach turned in irrational panic. Mitch bobs his head a little, taps on Auston’s thigh as some sort of a signal. _Go ahead_.

Auston’s hips jerk forward, and wow, Mitch's hunch was right, he really didn’t want that. It’s like fucking, except it’s his _mouth_ , _his mouth is the thing getting fucked_ , and the little grinds Auston’s making are keeping him lightheaded, unsure of when to breathe. Auston’s moving more now, seemingly frustrated, because Mitch _still doesn't know what he’s doing, can’t–_

He takes a deep breath through his nose, steeling himself, and pulls back. Auston doesn’t try to stop him this time, and Mitch feels a small wave of disappointment and relief. It’s still not enough to starve off the spike of guilt at Auston’s groan at the loss of simulation, not enough to stop impulsive words from tumbling from mouth -- anything to stop Auston’s frustration, his disappointment with Mitch. (He can’t handle that, needs the praise, the confirmation that he’s doing well, anything to chase away the memory of Auston telling Mitch his mouth wasn’t _enough_ \--)

“Sorry, sorry, can we just– can we just switch positions?” Mitch rasps, a bit frantic at the way Auston’s tilted his head back-- in exasperation? Mitch wouldn’t be able to take that, needs to please, and so he’s scrambling up onto the bed, nearly babbling at this point as he prods Auston to scoot back towards the headboard.

“I’m sorry, I can-- let me just– like this?”

“ _Mitch._ It’s _fine,”_ Auston says, except Mitch can hear the tension in his voice, the exasperation, and that’s not fine. He can be good, he just needs to figure it out--

Mitch settles himself on his elbows, stomach down on the bed from in between Auston’s legs. It’s a familiar position, something he thinks he can handle, he just needs Auston to-- he taps the insides of Auston’s thighs and he responds immediately, throwing their weight over Mitch’s shoulders.

It’s just like Mitch expected, the tight-almost-smothering heat closing in around his shoulders, his neck, but it feels familiar enough to calm him down, calm enough to take a deep breath and swallow Auston back down.

It’s a much better mindset than before, and he’s able to attempt the beginnings of a technique, work the base of Auston’s cock with one hand as he swirls his tongue around the head. It seems to work, anyways, based on the grip in his hair, Auston’s breathing, and, _yeah_. Doing it for Auston is definitely doing it for Mitch.

Auston’s getting louder and louder, like whatever Mitch is doing is finally working, and the noises go straight to his dick. Auston’s thighs are straining, close to making it hard for Mitch to breathe, and it _should_ scare him, the thought of smothering himself in Auston’s thighs, but the combination of the squeezing weight and Auston’s vocal responses are _really great_ \-- his dick is practically twitching with how much it’s weeping precome, making a mess of his boxers and probably his jeans, too. He feels like he’s on the edge -- like he’s been there all night, even when he was considering backing out.

“I’m gonna--” Auston moans, drawing Mitch’s focus as his thighs squeeze tight, and Mitch grinds his hips desperately into the bed, stomach completely molten at the sound. Still, the first spurts into his mouth are a surprise, and he jerks back instinctually. Auston cries out and lurches forward, missing the simulation, and Mitch is unprepared for the rest of it to streak up his cheek and over his eyelashes -- unprepared for the way it all crashes together, the orgasm practically _forced_ out of him. He can’t hold back a gravely moan, hips stuttering down into the blankets as he comes harder than he has in a long time. His ears are practically ringing, and when he finally manages to glance up, vision dotted with dark spots, Auston’s staring down at him with wide eyes.

“ _Dude,_ ” Auston gapes, pupils still blown out. “You look so fucking hot right now, holy fuck. Did you just-- just from that?”

Mitch blinks slowly, feeling the way there’s some tacky resistance in his eyelashes, and he raises a shaking hand to swipe away the cum so it doesn’t get in his eyes. He’s coming down from the rush, and everything is catching up to him -- his mouth tastes gross, and his jaw kind of aches, but he manages a hoarse “ _Yeah_.”

Shit. It doesn’t even sound like his voice, kind of like the way his body doesn’t quite feel like his own at the moment.

Auston hums contently, and Mitch feels the vibrations from where he’s still bracing himself on Auston’s hips. He feels tired, bone-deep, doesn’t want to get up or deal with the mess in his boxers, on his face, but he figures he can’t stay between Auston’s thighs forever.

“Thanks, buddy. I needed that.” Auston smiles, dopey and strung out, and holds out his arms in a clear invitation.

Mitch wants to laugh, because of _course_ Auston knows he likes to cuddle, of course he’d offer for the first time _now_ , the one time Mitch doesn’t want it, feeling shaky and uncertain in his own skin. It’s _Auston_ , though, and Mitch has wanted this for forever, even if he’s cold and tired and feeling really, truly messed up, so he crawls up next to Auston, stripping off his jeans.

Auston grabs some tissues from the side table, mops at Mitch’s face. He shrugs with a grin. “Close enough. We’ll get to it later.”

Mitch lets himself be tucked under Auston chin and relishes in the way it feels like a hollow victory.

**Author's Note:**

> >Mitch has fantasies of giving head to a teammate/multiple teammates, likes the aspect of being powerless. These fantasies are never disclosed to Auston.  
> >Auston pretty clearly guilts him into giving him a blowjob, though there's no malicious intent; Auston doesn't think it's a big deal, and doesn't realize the extent of the conflict in Mitch's head.  
> >Mitch tries to pull off at one point and Auston instinctually stops him.  
> >Mitch craves Auston's friendship (with a small side of hero worship), and thus is way more likely to agree to something like this, and more likely to agree when Auston asks to fuck his mouth, even though *****he explicitly thinks to himself that he doesn't want that aspect of the blowjob*****  
>  >Mitch gets turned on by his nervousness and fear, and in the end his adrenaline crashes and it's not a great feeling or mindspace.
> 
> EDIT: There are some thoughts in the comments about what I had in mind as a possible future after this fic (something I will most likely not write, as it would probably get to uncomfy levels on my end)  
> They're not very happy (dubcon warning applies, mentally it's not a great time for Mitch), but if that sort of thing interests, you feel free to check it out!


End file.
